


i am a magnet (for all kinds of deeper wonderment)

by naasad



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Getting Together, I took almost every single one of my favorite tropes and put them in a fic somehow, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Non-Binary Joly, Other, Perceived Break-Up, Platonic Cuddling, Pontmercying, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 01:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naasad/pseuds/naasad
Summary: Jehan has always had a sense about things.





	i am a magnet (for all kinds of deeper wonderment)

**Author's Note:**

> Holy cow, my hands hurt. ANYWAYS, my target for this fic was 3k words. :) It's now my longest one shot on the site.
> 
> Title from Wunderkind by Alanis Morisette. ~~no i have not been marathoning chronicles of narnia lately what are you talking about~~
> 
> EDIT: Realized a joke was in poor taste and called it out in the fic.
> 
> Btw, I'm probably going to be messing around with every time I think of something. I wanna see if I can get it up to 5k words. So it might not be 100% the same if you come back a second time.
> 
> EDIT 2: 5057 words y'all! :D

Whispers followed them wherever they went.

“That Jean, so strange.”

“That Jean, so odd.”

Whatever it was, it was not so strange to them.

They reached up, caught the rays of sunshine between their fingers and smiled as they tickled.

“I feel old,” they said once, when asked why they did not care. “Maybe that is why. Maybe I’m an ancient fae, a changeling. That would be marvelous.” They grinned at the thought of escaping to Avalon.

No one paid any attention to them.

They put iron on their windowsill, above their door, around their wrist. They left out a thimble of cream on the porch, and they steered away from mushroom rings and hollow trees.

They came out as liking boys in _seconde_.

Everyone paid attention. Slurs followed them throughout _lycée_. Shouts of “You’re going to hell!” and “God hates you!” At home, only murmurs of disappointment and mutters of soiling the family name.

They mixed salt with the iron around the house.

“My name is Jehan,” they said after graduating _terminale_. “I’m not a boy. I’m not a girl. I don’t know what I am.”

Their mother crossed herself. “The Devil’s put a spirit in you.”

In their dorm at _le bac_ , they pressed motherwort and elderflowers between the pages of their books and hung garlic above the door.

Their roommate hated the smell, frequently complained, and called them Jean.

Soon enough, they got a new one.

Grantaire was a good man, but he didn’t believe it, so he didn’t act like it. But he called them Jehan. And he was the first one to call them ‘they’.

They wept.

They made him a bracelet of rhodonite.

He never took it off.

One night, he snuck liquor into their room.

Jehan pressed their fingers against his pulse, then traced the lines of his palm. “I feel like I knew you once.”

“As do I,” said Grantaire.

They dated for a week before deciding their love was not like that. Still, they were inseparable.

“You are intrepid, Jehan,” Grantaire said. “You think you’re not brave because you’re quiet and you don’t like to argue, but you live life like it’s an adventure.”

“It is,” Jehan said, looking up from their notebook. “It has to be.”

“Read to me?” Grantaire asked, crawling in bed beside them.

Jehan smiled. “ _’But to the second circle of sad Hell,_  
_Wherein the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw_  
_Of rain and hail-stones lovers need not tell_  
_Their sorrows – pale were the sweet lips I saw,_  
_Pale were the lips I kiss’d, and fair the form_  
_I floated with, about that melancholy storm.’_ ”

“Who wrote that one?”

“Keats.” Jehan pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Did you see him again today?”

Grantaire sighed longingly. “I did. I believe he thinks even less of me than he did last week.”

“Do you know his name yet?”

“Michel,” Grantaire breathed. “Michel Enjolras.”

Something stirred inside Jehan, right behind their sternum, something like awe. It was the same feeling they felt when enraptured by the sublimity of lightning storms. “I feel like I know him,” they murmured. “Terrible and beautiful all at once.”

Grantaire nodded. “That’s him. Ah, what I would give for a chance! But he's done nothing to deserve...” he gestured to his body "... this."

“He will love you,” Jehan said, without a clue where their confidence came from.

Grantaire sighed, finally falling asleep. “You don’t know that.”

“But I do,” Jehan whispered, confused because they did.

The sky was blue, the grass was green, winter was cold, and summer was warm, and Enjolras loved Grantaire.

He loved him sober, loved him drunk, loved him agreeable, and loved him contrary. The only thing about Grantaire that Enjolras hated was how much he hated himself.

Jehan needed to meet him.

They went to the campus center while Grantaire had class, certain they would find this man he spoke of there. They weren’t wrong.

Enjolras stood on a table, speaking clearly. On either side of him were Courfeyrac and Combeferre, loyal as always.

Jehan didn’t know how they knew that. They fingered the strap on their bag and left, not bothering to try to speak to Enjolras today.

First, they needed to find out what was going on with them.

“Excuse me? I’m looking for books about religion, specifically reincarnation.”

The librarian on duty was Bahorel, trying to pay his way through a law degree that he hated. Again.

Jehan flinched at the sudden not-memory.

Bahorel nodded and stood, hunching over to make himself look less threatening. “We’ve got plenty of those. I’m Bahorel, he/him.”

“Jehan,” Jehan introduced themself quietly. “They/them.”

Bahorel smiled and straightened. “You can call me Théodore if you want.”

Jehan smiled. “You should never give out your full name. You never know who you might be talking to.” They frowned and waited for a scalding remark about the existence of fae or lack thereof.

“You’re right, that’s true,” Bahorel said instead. “Maybe you can call me Dodo instead. I usually only let my niece call me that, but I’ll make an exception for you.” He winked.

Jehan stopped in their tracks, gaping. “Are you flirting with me?”

Bahorel looked nervous all of a sudden. “Sorry, that was unprofessional.”

Jehan shook their head and took his hand, carefully, gently. “No one’s ever flirted with me before.”

Bahorel smiled and swung their hands back and forth as they walked. "Well, that's a shame. They definitely don't know what they're missing out on."

Jehan laughed. "How can you be sure?"

Bahorel just shrugged, but there was a sparkle in his eyes.

This was much too familiar for two strangers, Jehan thought. But somehow, they weren’t exactly strangers, now, were they?

“I don’t think I’ll call you Dodo,” they said eventually, breaking the comfortable silence. “Bahorel is a wonderful name.”

Bahorel grinned.

Jehan skipped home with a rather large stack of books and a phone number. “Rémy,” they sighed dreamily as they flopped down on their bed.

Grantaire looked up at the uncharacteristic use of his first name.

Jehan grinned. “I think I’m in love.”

“Is it as hopeless as mine?”

Jehan held up the phone number for proof, deigning not to insist that Grantaire’s love was anything but hopeless.

Grantaire grinned and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rhodonite clinking against silver charms. “Tell me all about it.”

This is why Jehan loved Grantaire. They told him everything.

Bahorel and Jehan texted nearly constantly. They were always pulling out their phone with a smile, waiting to see what new part of his life they’d been invited to learn.

They went on their first official date a month after they first met.

Grantaire helped Jehan get dressed – a patterned skirt he’d bought and an artfully clashing blazer from their own closet – and tied their hair in an elaborate twist.

Jehan stared in the mirror, playing with the skirt. They took a deep breath and started crying.

Grantaire was immediately there, offering his shoulder to cry on. “This is why I saved your makeup for last.”

Jehan laughed through their tears. “Thank you,” they whispered.

Grantaire brushed their tears away and pressed a kiss to their forehead. “No problem. I’m just going to do some mascara and tinted lotion and chap stick, yeah? We’re not trying to make you effeminate – I know you hate that as much as trying to make you masculine, so we’re just trying to make you pretty.”

Jehan nodded gratefully, twirling around once more before sitting down at the desk.

Bahorel gaped as they came downstairs to meet him. “Oh, my god,” he mumbled before rushing over to offer his arm. “And what honorific would you like me to use?”

Jehan laughed and bit their lip. “Your Majesty,” they teased.

Bahorel bowed and opened the door to his car. “You look lovely tonight, Your Majesty.”

When he dropped them off after dinner, Bahorel kissed them for the first time.

Jehan felt euphoric.

They changed into pants in the nearest first-floor bathroom and lovingly folded the skirt into their bag before walking up the stairs to their room.

“How was it?” Grantaire asked.

Jehan just smiled and pressed their face into their pillow. Their dreams were happy for once.

“Hey,” Bahorel said a few days later as they watched movies on his ugly magenta couch. “I’m going to this meeting for this new club next week. It’s supposed to be all about having a better campus and being a good world citizen and how to stand up for marginalized groups and stuff. I want to see if it’s any good or just more ‘white savior’ shit, in which case, I intend to heckle the crap out of them. Do you want to come with me?”

Jehan looked down at their shoes. “If they’re not genuine, I can’t imagine I’d be welcome.”

Bahorel wrapped an arm around their shoulders and pressed a kiss to their cheek. “I know you can handle yourself, but you know I’d still kick their asses if they said anything, right? That being said, it won’t hurt my feelings if you say no.”

Jehan sighed and stretched out beside him, laying their head on his chest. “Alright,” they said. “I’ll think about it and let you know what I want to do.”

“Hey,” Grantaire said when they got home. “Enjolras started a club for the betterment of campus. Do you want to come with me?”

Jehan sighed with relief and smiled. “I already promised to go with Bahorel, so I will definitely be there.” They texted their boyfriend back as soon as Grantaire looked away.

With a vague feeling that Enjolras would hate it if they were even a minute late, Jehan made sure to get all three of them to the Café Musain a good fifteen minutes early.

As soon as they stepped inside, something felt wrong – so very wrong.

“We’re here for the meeting,” Bahorel told the barista. “Do you know where it is?”

She pointed them up the stairs hidden in the back.

As they walked up the stairs, while Jehan and Bahorel started to calm, Grantaire only became more and more anxious. “I can’t do this,” he finally gasped, coming to a halt on the second to last step.

Jehan took his hand. “It’s okay,” they murmured, leading him carefully.

Enjolras turned the moment they entered, and his eyes flew wide.

“Oh, my god,” Grantaire mumbled under his breath, trying to stop himself from running to the man.

Enjolras saved him the trouble, walking briskly to his side. His mouth opened and closed for a long time, trying to find the words, before he suddenly croaked “Do you permit it?”

“Oh, my god,” Grantaire wept. One moment, he was standing alone, the next, he and Enjolras were clinging to each other in a pile on the floor.

“What’s going on?” Bahorel asked.

Jehan took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t remember?” Courfeyrac asked.

Bahorel blinked at him.

Jehan shook their head slowly. “Sometimes I know things, sometimes I know people before I even meet them, but, no. Whatever you’re referring to, I don’t remember.”

Courfeyrac shrank in on himself.

“It’s alright,” Combeferre murmured, passing a hand up and down his back. He nodded to Jehan and Bahorel. “We didn’t until we met each other. We told Enjolras, but he didn’t really get it until he saw Grantaire for the first time. Maybe you two are waiting for someone, too.”

“Feuilly,” Courfeyrac breathed, relieved and absolutely certain.

“Who?” Bahorel asked.

Enjolras and Grantaire picked themselves up off the floor, not letting go of each other’s hand.

The rest of the meeting attendees filed in shortly.

There was no one named Feuilly.

Grantaire went home with Enjolras.

Bahorel and Jehan went home in a daze.

Their fifth meeting, a young man with a cane hobbled up the steps.

“Joly!” Combeferre cheered. “I was wondering if you’d come! Come, sit! Sit!” He hurried him into a chair next to Jehan. “I’m sorry for the lack of accessibility.”

Joly smiled and tapped his cane on the end of his nose. “It’s alright, Coco, I’m used to it at this point.” He stretched his leg in front of him and turned to Jehan. “Oh, hello. I’m Étienne, but everyone calls me Joly.” He chuckled. “Or Jolllly if you prefer. I’m studying to be a surgeon, and you are?”

“Jehan Prouvaire,” Jehan answered, shaking a proffered hand. “Literary Analysis. Pleased to meet you.”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking…”

Jehan steeled themself for the question they’d been getting from medical professionals since they came out.

“… what are your pronouns?”

“What?” Jehan asked.

Joly grinned shyly. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to make a wrong assumption.”

“No, no,” Jehan rushed to assure him. “I’m just… not used to people asking, especially not doctors – usually they ask if I’m a boy or a girl. I’m a they.”

Enjolras looked up in shock and turned to whisper something to Grantaire.

“Most doctors are shit,” Joly sighed. “I’m non-binary, too, but I still use he.”

Jehan frowned thoughtfully and turned to face him completely. “I’ve never met someone like me before. I don’t know much at all about - about labels or anything.”

Joly’s eyes lit up. “I have so much to tell you!” His excitement was infectious.

“Just so you know,” Grantaire said, coming up next to them after the meeting. “Enjolras is very sorry because he’s been misgendering you based on what he remembers from before, and he’s going to come over and apologize properly and make everything very awkward.” He squeezed Jehan’s shoulder, shook Joly’s hand, and went downstairs for a drink.

True to Grantaire’s word, Enjolras did walk over shortly.

“Taitaire told me,” Jehan said before he could say a word. “I forgive you.”

Enjolras closed his mouth and nodded sternly. “Next time I meet someone, I’m going to ask first.”

“Thank you,” said Joly and Jehan both.

The next person who came to the meeting just so happened to be Feuilly – _the_ Feuilly.

Bahorel stood the moment he entered the room. “You!”

Feuilly gaped. “You!” he shouted, then ran over to embrace him.

Jehan felt a twinge in their chest as the two veered off, talking nonstop. They turned their attention back to what Joly was saying about trans healthcare.

After a moment, he grinned and nodded to the other side of the room. “Look.”

“-and what are your pronouns?” Enjolras asked Feuilly.

“He,” Feuilly answered, ignoring the hand between them and going straight for a bone-crushing hug.

Bahorel thumped his back, looking positively gleeful.

Jehan’s heart sank a little further.

“What’s wrong?” Joly asked.

Jehan shook their head.

That weekend, they got dressed up for their date, wearing the same thing they had worn on their first date, and hoping to incite the same reaction. Grantaire had since then taught them to do their own makeup, so they were alone and all that remained was to wait for Bahorel downstairs.

After an hour, it started raining.

After another hour, someone pushed them.

“Hey!” Joly yelled, hobbling as fast as possible while wielding his cane like a sword. “Oh, no,” he said, helping Jehan up. “Didn’t you have a date tonight?”

Jehan took a few deep breaths, cradling their head in their hands.

“Ah,” Joly said. “Come on.” He led them by the hand into the elevator, and then he curled up with them in bed. “Anything I can do?”

Jehan shook their head. “Just… stay?”

“Of course,” Joly promised.

The next morning, Bahorel came with flowers. “I’m sorry, I thought I had texted you to cancel.”

“It’s okay,” Jehan said, burying their nose in the fragrant petals. “Whatever it was – it was important.” They tried to keep the desperation out of their voice but most likely failed.

Bahorel rubbed the back of his neck. “Not as important as you.”

Jehan’s face fell.

“I was out for drinks with Feuilly. He’s working like six jobs, it was the only time he had free.”

“Oh.”

“Can I take you out tonight?”

Jehan bit their lip, tried to ignore the sound of their heart breaking. “Sorry, I’m busy tonight. Another time, for sure.”

“Okay,” Bahorel said. He leaned down and pressed his lips to their cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Jehan said, closing the door gently.

They sighed and sat down on the edge of their bed, playing with the stems.

Joly reached out and put a hand on their shoulder.

They threw the flowers down and curled up into a ball, crying. “I knew this was going to happen the moment they saw each other.”

Joly held them together as they wept.

The next meeting, Feuilly sat next to Jehan. “Hey, I’m sorry I stole your man.”

Jehan’s breath caught in their chest.

“It won’t happen again.”

Jehan nodded and forced a smile. “It’s okay. What you two have is special. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

Bahorel came up behind and wrapped his arms around them both. “Ah! Here are my two favorite people!”

Feuilly laughed.

Jehan squirmed away. “Excuse me.”

Grantaire looked on shrewdly and followed them out to the street. “Do I need to bust some heads?”

Jehan shook their head. “No, it’s fine.” They wrapped their arms around themself, trying to ward off the chill.

Grantaire gave them his jacket.

“Why, Monsieur Grantaire!” Jehan teased. “What would your boyfriend think?”

Grantaire laughed. “He’d be more disappointed in me if I didn’t offer.”

“True.” Jehan grinned.

“Hey,” Grantaire said. “You both are my friends, but if he hurts you….”

“I’ll castrate him,” Jehan finished. They sighed and pouted dramatically. “I don’t want to, though.”

Grantaire laughed.

Jehan grinned wryly, then turned somber. “To be perfectly honest, though, I don’t see this ending any other way than me getting hurt.”

Bahorel forgot another date night.

After only one hour of waiting this time, Jehan wrapped themself in their coat and wandered over to Joly’s apartment.

“Again?” he asked.

Jehan nodded, laying down on the couch. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. What are you doing?”

Joly glanced down at his textbook. “Rare stomach disorders.”

Jehan rolled over onto their stomach. “You don’t say? Read to me?”

Joly laughed. “I’m so glad to have a friend like you. Even Combeferre hates this kind of stuff, and he’s taking almost the exact same classes.”

Jehan shrugged. “I just find disease and decay fascinating, what’s wrong with that?”

Joly grinned. “Not a damn thing. Though, personally, I just think it’s best to be as educated as possible about the body you live in.”

Jehan nodded in agreement. “Of course. Now, what are we starting with?”

The next meeting was a little more tolerable. Jehan pretended that had nothing to do with Feuilly’s absence for the first half.

Bahorel sat next to them, arm draped over the back of their chair, and Joly sat on their other side.

In the middle of Enjolras’ speech, though, Feuilly appeared with a vaguely familiar man bleeding from the head. “Joly! Coco! I ran into him on my way from work!”

Joly immediately rushed to the man’s side, then gasped when he made eye contact. “L’aigle?”

The man in question stared. “Jolllly!”

Bahorel grinned. “It’s Bossuet, everybody!” he called, leaving everyone not in the loop in a state of extreme confusion. He walked over to Feuilly to find out what had happened.

Jehan felt lost.

Enjolras put a hand on their shoulder. “Are you okay?”

They shook their head and accepted the hug he offered, no doubt as he glared daggers at the back of Bahorel’s head.

The next time Bahorel missed a date, they texted Joly before starting to walk.

 **[Jolllly]:** Sorry, with Boss atm!

Jehan sighed and decided it could all go to hell. They texted Courfeyrac.

 **[Jehan]:** I need a drinking buddy. You available?

 **[Fey]:** What happened to date night?

 **[Jehan]:** Stood up. Again.

 **[Fey]:** Dude.

 **[Fey]:** (is dude acceptable as a gender neutral term?)

 **[Jehan]:** lol yes

 **[Fey]:** Then dude. Why haven’t you broken up with him yet?

Jehan took a long moment to reply.

 **[Jehan]:** Because I love him.

 **[Fey]:** omw

It was just their luck they ended up in the same bar as Bahorel and Feuilly.

“We need to go,” Jehan said.

Courfeyrac scowled and stormed over, knocking the laugh right off Bahorel’s face with a single well-placed punch.

Bahorel stared up in shock.

Jehan closed their eyes and shuffled closer to the door.

“Okay,” Courfeyrac said, straightening his shirt. “Now we can go.” He walked straight out, ignoring the stares.

“Wait!” Bahorel called, running after them. “Wait! Jehan!” He grabbed them by the wrist.

Jehan tore their arm away, trying to hide their tears.

“Jehan, I’m sorry, I just double-booked myself.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jehan said, still walking, still trying not to cry.

“Why are you so mad about me spending time with Fee?”

Jehan whirled around, no longer caring. “Are you serious right now?”

Bahorel blinked in shock. “What?”

“I’m not mad about you hanging out with your friend!” Jehan yelled. “I’m devastated because this is the most we’ve talked in two months! When you grabbed my arm just then, that’s the first time you’ve touched me in two months! Are we even still dating?”

Bahorel blinked in shock. “Of course, we are!”

“Are we?” Jehan snapped. “Are we, Théodore?”

Bahorel struggled for words for a moment before blurting out “I want us to be!”

Jehan huffed. “Then you need to put in your share of the damn work.”

“Okay,” Bahorel said. He stared for a moment, then nodded and fished out his phone. “Okay. I’m texting Fee and telling him to go home without me. The night’s still young. Ish. Do you want to go see that movie that came out that you’ve been talking about with Joly and then head for fast food? It’s not much, but….”

Jehan glanced at Courfeyrac then turned and nodded. “Okay.”

Bahorel offered his arm. “Will you have me, Your Majesty?”

Jehan smiled weakly and took it. “You’re on probation,” they teased, “but yes.”

Bahorel grinned and kissed them on the cheek. “I’ll take it. Let’s go, my lovely.”

Jehan laughed.

They woke up the next morning beside him.

“Hey,” Bahorel murmured sleepily, pressing a kiss to their nose.

“Hey,” Jehan said, yawning.

“We should probably talk.”

Jehan groaned and glanced at the clock. “I hate that you’re right so early in the morning.”

Bahorel laughed and pressed their foreheads together. “Is it okay to kiss you?”

“M, you better.”

Bahorel pressed their lips together sweetly once, twice, thrice. “Are you more awake now?”

Jehan nodded. “Where do you want to start?”

Bahorel bit his lip. “When did you start feeling abandoned?”

Jehan sighed. “It’s going to sound petty.”

“Okay,” Bahorel said, “but it’s so very obviously not.”

Jehan smiled and pressed their forehead against his shoulder. “The moment you and Feuilly remembered, I knew you had something special and I was worried. And then when you stood me up the first time, I thought ‘well, maybe it’s just an honest mistake’ and then ‘but I saw this coming’. And then it kept happening.” They looked up and swallowed. “You love everyone with abandon, and I love you for it, I would never ask you to stop or be ashamed of it, but I need you to keep the commitments you make to me.”

“I will,” Bahorel promised. “And if I don’t, for whatever reason, just send me a text like ‘yo, you’re on thin fucking ice’.”

Jehan laughed, head thrown back, tearing up. “Barring emergencies, I will do that. Exactly that.” They pitched their voice deeper, trying to sound ‘gangster’. “Yo, Bahorel, what the fuck, dude, you’re on thin fucking ice, man.”

"Shush," Bahorel chuckled, despite himself. The image of Jehan trying to cultivate any kind of street cred was too amusing. "That's classist. You really shouldn't joke like that."

"Okay, that's fair," Jehan nodded.

He kissed them. “And now there’s something else we need to talk about.”

Jehan frowned and raised an eyebrow.

Bahorel grinned. “You said you love me.”

Jehan opened their mouth to refute it.

“It’s okay,” Bahorel chuckled, kissing their forehead. “I love you, too.”

Jehan smiled and snuggled closer to him. “I do love you. I love you so much.”

Bahorel pressed another kiss to the top of their head. “You want to know a secret?”

“Hm?”

“We loved each other in 1832, too. And I can’t wait until you remember.”

Jehan sighed. “I don’t know if I ever will.”

Bahorel frowned.

The next meeting was just the nine of them.

“What are you thinking?” Enjolras asked Combeferre after they explained.

Combeferre sighed and leaned back. “It’s… not a happy theory. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

Jehan sighed. “At this point, I’d just be happy to have a reason.”

Combeferre nodded. “Enjolras and Grantaire died holding hands. Joly and Bossuet, too. I died cradling Courfeyrac’s body.” His voice broke and he closed his eyes to compose himself. “And Bahorel and Feuilly died standing side by side. But you – you died first – you were captured and executed alone. I think… so far, everyone’s memories have been triggered by someone they died close to.”

“And I have no one,” Jehan finished quietly.

Bahorel pulled them close. “That can’t be it.”

Combeferre sighed. “At this point, it’s the best we’ve got. I’ll keep thinking about it, but….”

“There’s nothing else that can trigger the memories?” Feuilly demanded.

Joly shook his head. “Not that we’ve seen so far.”

Jehan nodded slowly and stood. “I think I need a minute alone.”

They walked downstairs and outside, holding their breath for a count of four and breathing out slowly.

“Watch out!”

Someone collided into them and they flung themself against the wall.

“Sorry!” the pale boy called, looking sheepish. “I’m looking for a girl, you wouldn’t happen to have seen one?”

Jehan blinked slowly. “I… have seen many girls.”

“Oh, right,” the boy said, face falling. “This one looks like an absolute angel.”

Jehan shrugged. “Can’t say I know any woman matching that description.” Enjolras, maybe, but not any woman.

“Say, you go to that justice club, don’t you? I’ve been meaning to stop by!” He held out his hand. “Marius Pontmercy.”

“Jehan Prouvaire.” Jehan smiled. “You should come by next time. Tonight was founders only.”

Marius nodded. “Of course, of course, I’ll see you next time! Farewell, Jehan Prouvaire! I’m off in search of a girl!”

Jehan chuckled and walked back upstairs, feeling a little better about interacting with other humans.

“Are you alright, love?” Bahorel asked.

Jehan nodded. “I will be. I met someone downstairs who wants to come to the next meeting,” they said, loud enough so the entire room could hear. “Does anyone know a Marius Pontmercy?”

The entire room gave a collective groan.

“Hey!” Courfeyrac called. “Pontmercy is nice!”

“That’s all you could think of,” Combeferre pointed out, damningly.

“Which one was Marius again?” Enjolras asked.

“The one who thought Bonaparte was the best thing since sliced bread,” Feuilly said, shuddering.

Grantaire nodded. “I mean, my criticism was at least well-founded on my own experiences. Pontmercy was a puppy chasing exactly three things – Napoleon, Courfeyrac, and that girl whose handkerchief he found on the ground.”

Jehan winced. “Well… maybe he won’t come?”

They all groaned again, Joly even laying his head on the table in defeat.

The moment Jehan and Bahorel walked into the Musain the next week, they could hear Marius upstairs.

Bahorel sighed and walked up. “He’s probably pissing off Coco again.”

Jehan raised an eyebrow, following behind on the narrow staircase. “I have never once seen Combeferre pissed off.”

“Lucky,” Bahorel sighed. He opened the door and walked on in.

Jehan stepped up and froze.

“What could be better than what we have now?” Marius asked, sounding genuinely happy.

Combeferre stared, eyes glazed over. “Being dead or literally anything else,” he deadpanned.

Courfeyrac reached over for a high-five, and Combeferre delivered without looking.

Marius pouted.

Jehan gasped.

Everyone looked over.

“Jehan?” Enjolras asked.

Jehan shook their head, bracing against the doorframe.

“Hey,” Bahorel said, crossing the room in three giant strides. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jehan wept, wrapping their arms around him. “Nothing, I remember. I _remember_.”

Joly looked up in shock. “It’s Marius?!”

“No,” Jehan said, shaking their head. “I met Marius last week, remember? It’s all of you. All of you together,” they sobbed.

Everyone moved forward at that, even Enjolras, wrapping Jehan in their arms.

Marius stared, blinking. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

“That’s nothing new,” someone said.

There was a knock on the doorframe, and everyone broke apart, staring at the woman there.

She smiled sheepishly. “Hi, sorry to intrude. I was told someone up here was looking for me?”

“It’s you!” Marius cried, and then much more reverently “It’s _you!_ ”

The woman gasped. “It’s you!”

Marius ran to her and kissed her, then shook his head. “What am I doing? Guys, this is my wife, Cosette.”

Grantaire spat out his drink. “I'm sorry, she's your what?”

"Damn," Courfeyrac said. "How did someone like him ever get to be with someone like you?"

Marius grinned, utterly adorable in his adoration. "I know, right?

“This is going to be a theme isn’t it?” Bossuet asked cheerfully. “All this you!-you!-ing.”

“Can you think of a better one?” Feuilly asked, resigned.

“I can’t,” Jehan said quietly. They smiled and leaned into Bahorel. “It means we’re all together.”

Bahorel took them to his apartment that night, grinning as he helped them out of their jacket. “Do you remember all of it?” he asked, playful and desperate all at once.

Jehan smiled and leaned up for a kiss. “All of it,” they said, tugging on his collar. “Come on, Horel.”

Bahorel smiled and followed them to the bedroom, falling down on the sheets and holding them close. “I love you.”

Jehan smiled and gave the answer they had two hundred years ago. “Even if I decided to become a lawyer?”

Bahorel laughed and pressed kisses to every part of their face. “That’s the one unforgivable sin.”

Jehan ran their fingers through his hair. “I like it better long like this.” They kissed him deeply. “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please review if you liked!


End file.
